


The More Things Change

by Untherius



Series: High Warlady of Yuma [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Emberverse - S. M. Stirling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Post-Chosen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Untherius/pseuds/Untherius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the eve of an invasion, Buffy reflects upon the twenty-year history of her de-facto queendom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Change

Stronghold of Yuma, Arizona  
September 4, Change Year 20, 2018 AD

 

Buffy Harris nee Summers stood atop a tower in the wall that surrounded Yuma. Normally, she joined her husband, twin daughters Anya and Joyce, and her son Rupert for pre-breakfast combat practice. Today was their day off and she'd come here to contemplate as she gazed out over her domain. The Stronghold of Yuma sat on what had become a trade crossroads between the southern California coast to the west, the scattered communities of the Kaibab country, Apache Nation and bossmen of western Texas to the east, between the nascent goatherds who plied the Great Basin foothills to the north and the Mexicano tradespeople to the south. It also oversaw the second-largest tract of arable farmland in the entire Southwestern Confederation—and one day the largest, if the Salton Sea north of El Centro continued to expand now that Southern California's demand for water had dried up, as it were.

Yuma was the capital of what had become the Southwestern Confederation. It included every community as far east as the basin surrounding the ruins of Phoenix and Glendale, as far north as Palm Springs, Havasu, and the scattered mining communities near the ruins of Las Vegas, as far south as the fishing and port villages at the mouth of the Colorado River and as far west as northern Baja, the fishing villages of the Channel Islands and the ports in the San Diego and Los Angeles ruins—that had for a decade been dead wastelands populated only by vultures, condors, coyotes and reptiles--started by colonists for the purpose of establishing trade with Tasmania and the San Juaquin Valley.

She and the Scooby Gang had been stranded here on their way east when the Change had hit. The last transmissions before the world went dark suggested the disturbance had started on Nantucket Island and Buffy strongly suspected it to be the epicenter of a new Hellmouth. She'd aimed to strike out toward it, but had given up after five years of survival and rebuilding had consumed her. She still thought about it and she might some day re-take that quest.

Buffy was born to be the greatest Slayer the world had ever known. Even after being called as such, she'd never have dreamed she'd also one day be High Warlady of a coalition of groups collectively numbering some three hundred thousand. Like so many others in her position, she'd once been just a young woman spending the first Change Year defending her friends—usually with deadly force--against those who would have eaten their flesh off a spit and trying to keep as many others as possible from dying of hunger and thirst. As her word-fame had spread, others rallied around her. It didn't hurt that her Slayer powers made her downright invincible. In time, she'd been recognized as a queen of sorts. It had become her duty to defend her people not just against the darkness of the world beyond this one, but also against conventional threats, both foreign and domestic.

Since the dams holding back the waters of the Colorado and Gila Rivers had failed, those streams once more ran free from the Gulf of California clear to their headwaters beyond the Grand Canyon and the ruins of Pheonix. The striped bass and sturgeon runs had returned. However, with no flood control, the Yuma farmers had to adapt what they remembered from school and from books in the Yuma libraries about Egyptian and Israeli agricultural practices.

Her reverie was broken by a set of hurried footsteps behind her. She turned to see a city guard, clearly out of breath. She raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Your Excellency,” said the man between breaths, “we're under attack!”

Buffy resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the use of the address. Instead, she got to business. “By whom?”

“It's hard to say...Ma'am. A rider from the Gulf towns arrived minutes ago. His camel collapsed and he barely delivered his message before dropping himself.”

“Oh my gosh! Will be be alright?”

“We think so, but...” He paused. “He said there were thousands of ships flying the flags of the empires of the south...all landing near the river-mouth, disgorging soldiers.”

Buffy's eyes narrowed. They'd been having strained relations with the nascent nations of Central America and for reasons that were still unclear. It had been two decades years since the border between the now-disintegrated United States of America and the just-as-disintegrated Republica Mexicana had become meaningless and they were _still_ dealing with illegal immigration. Only now the stakes were higher... _much_ higher. At least drug trafficking had all but died. Fortunately, she was used to being attacked by evil for the simple reason that that's what evil did and that remained unaltered by the Change.

“How large is their force?”

“Unknown, ma'am...a hundred thousand strong, at least, it would seem.”

“A hundred thousand?!”

“Shall we muster the Rohirrim?” said the man.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “Must we call them that?” The man fidgeted and Buffy continued. “Yes, that's a good idea. Send riders to every community that can be reached in two days' time. And light the Estrella Beacon...it looks like we'll need everyone.”

The man executed a curt bow. “At once, Excellency!” At that, he briskly turned and left.

Buffy stepped back over to the battlement, leaned her hands on it and sighed. What was it with people? She spent years, shed blood, and gave her life twice defending humanity against the scourges of several hells and that was her thanks for it. A hundred thousand, she mused, those were long odds indeed against the twenty thousand she might be able to field. Fortunately, she had a few secret weapons: herself; several dozen other slayers; Greek fire—the real thing, not the poor-man's napalm that seemed to be called that these days; and Willow, the most powerful witch on—and arguably under—Earth.

After a few moments, Buffy turned and retreated from the tower. It was time to call the War Council.


End file.
